she help her mother? She hoped Kyle’s teammate, Leandre, would sign on as a client. He’d confided that he was tired of his ladies’ man reputation and ready for something more serious. She could really help him.
But without the bonus Phil Goodwell had offered her for matching up his daughter with Kyle … even a new client wouldn’t make up the difference she needed for her mother’s new medicine.
“Good night, Mom.”
Pressing a kiss to her cheek, Marissa left the dining room to think up a plan. Selling the house or anything else from her mom’s past was out of the question since those familiar items grounded her when she was confused. And with those assets off-limits, what choice did she have but to find another way to make her matchmaking service work? Only this time, she’d restrict herself to pairing people who both really wanted to find true love.
Which meant she needed to speak with Stacy Goodwell and tell her the news.
Pausing at the turn of the stairs to fish her cell phone from her purse, Marissa dropped into the deep cushions of the window seat tucked on the landing. She’d sleep better tonight if she sent Stacy a message and got it over with.
Tomorrow, she’d worry about finding new clients. Multiple new clients. For now, she clicked out a message.
I’m bowing out of the race to land Kyle Murphy. If you’re interested in other options, I’d be happy to help you.
Jamming a finger on the send button before she could change her mind, Marissa opened her purse to put the phone back. The newspaper article with Kyle’s picture fell out so that he seemed to be grinning at her even now.
Even if breaking her contract with Stacy cleared the path for Marissa to see Kyle, she still didn’t trust the way she felt about him. That crazy, upside-down attraction could never be a good thing. At very least, it impaired her romantic judgment.
What if she was just another conquest to him, forbidden fruit his über-competitive side couldn’t resist trying?
“I knew you’d be trouble,” she whispered, stabbing the paper with an accusatory finger. “And I was right.”
THE DAY HAD STARTED out like any other for Isaac Reynolds.
Ten hours at the office of his tech company messing with a top-secret idea for new 3-D technology for his graphics chip, an hour at the gym and a half hour supporting a worthwhile cause in the form of a fat check written to the charities the Phantoms hockey team supported.
A normal day for a successful geek trying to get a new product to market. Or it had been normal until now, when Isaac found himself with an armful of lush female who was light-years out of his league.
There’s no way a woman like this fell into his arms unless she was an industrial spy sent by his competition. He had a long track record as a bachelor that proved it.
“Are you okay?” He tried to steady her after she’d stumbled into him, but she winced in pain.
“I hurt my ankle.” Her grip on his shoulders tightened.
A whole hell of a lot more than that tightened on his end of the equation as she hopped around on one foot, her hip grazing him in ways that even a lap dancer couldn’t have dreamed up. Whether she was a spy or not, he wasn’t immune.
“Hold still,” he barked, clamping his hands around her waist like a vise in order to save his sanity.
And while that halted the teeth-grinding tease of the dance she’d been doing, it introduced his hands to an inviting new landscape that practically begged for exploration. It wasn’t fair a woman who felt this good would work for the competition.
“I’m trying,” she protested. “These shoes have been killing me, and I ripped open a blister when I twisted my ankle.”
Her eyes were squeezed shut as if she was fending off pain, and her genuine hurt chased away his cynicism for the moment. He tried not to think about the sweet indent of her waist above the soft flare of her hips. It wasn’t easy with his body still dogging him to cop another feel. She was pure fantasy material.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to find hotel security?” He could pass her off to someone else.
“I can manage. That is, if you’re still amenable to looking around the parking lot with me?”
He gritted his teeth at the thought of touching her again—a sweetly torturous thrill.
“Sure.”
“Thank you.” She blinked up at him so gratefully he felt like a low-life for fantasizing about her.
As he locked his van for safety, he was surprised she hadn’t tried to talk her way into his vehicle. Not that he carried research development notes with him. But she didn’t know that.
“Are you okay to walk on that foot or do you want me to … carry you?”
He looked over her short, strapless dress, already regretting the offer. She possessed an incredibly sexy body and the dress showed it off to mouthwatering advantage. Her platinum blond hair had an asymmetrical cut that made her look as though she’d walked out of a futuristic video game—a zombie-killing spaceship captain, maybe. A character you could only access deep into the game, late at night. And only if you were very, very talented with your hands.
“I’ll be fine.” She—Stacy—bit her lip, appearing entirely unsure of herself as she tested her tender ankle.
Stifling an inward curse, he sent a stern message to his hands not to get used to this. But he needed to help her if she was going to find her van. Decision made, he bent forward to slip an arm around her shoulders, bolstering her so she leaned into his side. He was careful not to hold her too close since he hadn’t quite willed away his earlier reaction to her.
“Oh!” Gasping in surprise, she wrapped her arm around his waist and wriggled infernally near.
“Did I hurt you?” Sticking to the main aisle where the light was best, Isaac began a methodical scan of the rows, searching for her vehicle.
“No. I was just startled since you didn’t give me a warning. You don’t have much to say, do you?”
And wasn’t that the beginning of the end of this parking lot relationship? Isaac had scared off more than a few women with qualities they’d diagnosed as everything from “inability to relate” to “freakish quietness.” So interludes like this one would only happen to him if a woman literally fell into his lap, as this hapless, hot blonde seemed to have.
Or she’d been paid to seduce his secrets from him. Being with her would almost make it worth selling out.
“Not really.” He needed to drop her off somewhere else, somewhere she belonged, because she sure as hell didn’t have any business here, plastered to his side.
“Are you still mad about me wrecking your paint job? Is that why you don’t talk to me?” She leaned forward to peer down another row of cars and her breasts strained against the fabric of her sparkly dress.
Or so he imagined, since he kept himself occupied not looking at her.
“I live in my head a lot,” he explained, forcing himself to slow down even though he wanted to sprint. He figured he’d go with the obvious answer instead of trying to dress up the truth.
“What do you mean?” Her frown created the perfect pout, her lower lip full and glistening.
“I think too much. Half the time I don’t hear what people say, and the other half of the time, I’ll think I’ve answered them when I haven’t.” Although he’d been shockingly tuned into her since he’d discovered her trying to break into his van.
He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had so thoroughly claimed his attention.
“I wish the people in my life wouldn’t hear half of what I say. Fifty percent of the time I haven’t thought